Show Thy Face
by TheRandomScribbler
Summary: Slight AU. TDK spoilers. A dying Harvey Dent has just one request for Batman. Revised.


Summary: A dying Harvey Dent has just one request for Batman.

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers! And there is slight, but not unbelievable, AU.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned any of it. Especially Bruce. )

-Note: This is the revised version. I got some really helpful feedback and decided to take that and, hopefully, make this story even better.-

-

The second that Harvey Dent "Two-Face" tossed his blackened coin into the air in his morbid, twisted quest for supposed equality, Batman knew this was his only chance to act.

Ignoring the roaring, fiery pain in his chest he leapt to his feet and threw himself across the room, seizing Dent around the waist and throwing himself, the man and the boy out into the open air. Gordon's wife screamed and Batman heard Gordon himself gasp.

He concentrated hard, trying to block out the raging fire burning in his chest, trying to keep grasp his grasp on Dent and Gordon's boy at the same time. But he had no grip on Dent; his leap had served merely to knock the man away from the gun. Dent tumbled easily from his grasp and Batman did not have to look to know what had happened. His weakened fingers barely grasped the edge of the wood as he used the last of his strength to pull Gordon's boy up into his grateful, relieved father's arms. He tried to hang on, but his strength was draining from him as easily as the blood seeped from the wound on his side. His gloved hand slipped from the edge, bringing him crashing down to the ground, breaking the resistant wooden beams in the way. He lay on the ground, still, reminded brutally that he was yet a man.

Batman rolled over onto his side. His entire body ached, despite the kevlar and his valiant efforts to push the pain away. He could feel stickiness beneath his armor from the gunshot wound and knew he would have to exit the scene quickly. Drawing on his last reservoir of strength, he pulled himself to his knees beside the body of Gotham's former White Knight.

To his shock, he found the disfigured man still breathing—shallow, labored breaths, yes, but he was breathing all the same.

Batman began to reach for his mobile to phone the paramedics, but was surpised by a hand on his arm.

"Don't." Dent's voice, formerly smooth as honey, was rasped and coarse. Batman slowed, but did not stop.

"Why," he demanded harshly.

"I'm done," Dent whispered hoarsely. He shook his head weakly. "I'm finished." He coughed, and spat blood onto the charred ground upon which he lay. "Batman—forget it."

Batman shook his head mutely. If he could save this man, monster or not, he would do it, with or without the man's approval. He began to dial the appropriate numbers.

"Batman!" Dent's grip, surprisingly strong, came again on his arm. "Listen to me! If you didn't _get _this be_fore_, the gun went _off_ when I fell. Look!"

Batman did look and mumbled a curse when he saw what Dent referred to. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before. The gun apparently had gone off, and the bullet seemed to have entered Harvey's neck and was lodged there. The man was right; he was a goner. It was a miracle he had even survived the fall.

"I don't even want to live," Dent grated. He rested his head against the ground and smiled bitterly. "Not without her."

He closed his eyes. Batman did not move. He wasn't sure what to do. Calling the paramedics would be useless, but he could hardly just leave the dying man to pass away alone.

"What can I do?" Batman asked quietly. He knew this man deserved none of his kindness after the murders he had committed and the fact that he was responsible for the gaping hole in Batman's side, but that didn't stop him from offering it anyway.

"Nothing," Dent answered immediately, bitterness marking his tone. He smiled again, that horrible, grotesque twist of a grin which had once graced every Gotham City tabloid in a positive light. Batman put a hand to his side and rocked back on his heels, preparing to simply wait quietly with the man while his last moments fled in peace. Then Dent spoke again.

"Wait."

Batman looked up, interest piqued. Could there possibly be anything Batman could do for the dying, murderous Two-Face?

"What is it?" he asked, gazing at the man in a mix of curiosity and weariness.

Dent's face lost its grin and became marked by a tone of grim reality. His request startled Batman into silence.

"Let me see your face."

Batman paused, unsure of how to respond to this unexpected request. Them, finally, he spoke, his tone heavy.

"I cannot do that."

Dent let loose a derivitive snort of laughter. "Get real, Batboy! Didn't you _see _the _hole _in my neck? I'm _dying_, and all I want is for you to satiate the curiosity of a dying man. Is that so hard? Or are you still just so ashamed you can't even show your face to someone who won't live to see tomorrow anyway?"

"I was going to turn myself in," Batman growled, riled against his will.

"Of course, always so _noble_…just show me who you really are, buddy, and let me die in what little peace I can find…"

Batman did not move. He knew Harvey Dent would soon be dead. And yet part of him froze at the thought of taking off his mask in front of anyone except maybe Alfred.

It was _who_ he _was_. As Rachel once told him, Bruce Wayne was his mask. Batman was who he truly was. Without his mask, he was just a man, corruptible. With his naked face in plain view, he was no different than anyone else, no more capable of making a difference than the stranger on the street. And yet, something was tugging persistently at him, some part of him that said he _wanted_ someone to know who he was. It was his greatest fear and his greatest curiosity. It was the most agonizing case of indecision he had ever encountered in all his days of embracing the mantle of Caped Crusader. His pulse beat erraticically and for a moment his heart thudded a dull, terrified pattern. Then slowly, very slowly, he raised his hands to his head. Dent grinned, a feral baring of his teeth, and watched.

Slowly, and almost as though it hurt, Batman removed his mask to reveal the misjudged, too-famous face of billionaire prince Bruce Wayne.

Dent's jaw dropped in shock. He coughed hard. Batman waited for his coughing fit to die down. He lowered his head, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had fighting the Joker. For this man to look at his naked face made him feel like a freak, like he couldn't be looked at without shock and revulsion.

"Wayne," Dent ground out. His eyes were wide and his hand suddenly clenched thin air as though expecting to find support there. "You—all along—"

Bruce nodded wordlessly. He had no idea what to say to this man. He quickly reached again for his mask, to cover up what he felt he never should have revealed.

"Not yet," Dent rasped. He waved an arm weakly. "All this time—you—Rachel—"

"No." Bruce shook his head quickly, pausing in the motion of replacing his safety. "No, Dent. We were never involved while she was with you."

"She knew?" Dent whispered, and Bruce nodded silently, looking at the ground and feeling overwhelmingly ashamed for some reason. Dent closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

"She said—in the warehouse—she told me—" His words were overwhelmed by another coughing fit, this one far more violent than the last, and this time, he didn't stop until life had been extinguished from his body. What Rachel told Harvey Dent he never found out. He thought he knew what it was. But he would never know how wrong he was.

-

Commissioner Gordon lay on the ground clutching his son to his chest. His wife rushed over with their daughter and for a moment the little family sat huddled in silence, breathing heavily, thanking God they were all alive.

Then duty sprang to Gordon's mind and he rose to his feet, squeezing his understanding wife's hand before sprinting down the stairs to where Batman and Harvey lay. Batman's back was to him, facing Dent's body. He was on his knees, head bowed. Then Gordon noticed, to his shock, that Batman's mask was off. He began to rush forward blindly, but Batman immediately held up a hand and Gordon stopped, feeling foolish. He didn't know what he had hoped to accomplish by that. Of course Batman would never let him see his face.

"I'm sorry." Batman's voice was weary, like he couldn't handle another second of being the great vigilante.

"I understand." And he did. If Gordon knew, it might change everything. And if anyone were to find out that Gordon knew, it would mean impossible danger for himself and his family. No, it was far better that Batman remain anonymous to all.

"Dent?" Gordon ventured, though he thought he knew the answer. Batman grunted. Gordon sighed and nodded. "I expected so."

Then the great bat pulled on his mask and faced the new Commissioner.

"You must hunt me," he muttered, wincing. The pain was almost overwhelming, and he was starting to feel the dizzying effects of the bullet lodged in his chest and the severe loss of blood caused by it.

"What?" Gordon was bewildered. Batman began to stumble toward the Batpod, clutching his side and still feeling lightheaded from the confontation with the now-gone Harvey Dent.

"Dent," Batman muttered. He motioned vaguely with a hand. He clenched his teeth as a wave of pain overtook him again. He could have competed in a contest involving the toughest men in the world and come out on top, but he was still human and a bullet lodged in his side still affected him as such.

"They can't know," Batman grunted. "Dent is the good guy—if word gets out he killed those people, the Joker will have _won_…"

Gordon shook his head. "I won't. I can't. How," he muttered. "How can they possibly see you as the murderer? It isn't right."

"Sometimes at first things have to be wrong to be right," Batman murmured. "Lay the blame on me, Gordon." He breathed heavily. He could hear the cop sirens wailing and the yelps of dogs approaching. He had to move. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

"But—" Gordon was hesitant, looking desperate for another solution.

"Do as I say!" Batman barked. Gordon flinched; Batman was never that sharp with him.

Batman limped further toward the Batpod. He stopped; sighed, almost looked remorseful.

"I'm sorry, Gordon," he said quietly. "But this is how it has to be. Call it in."

He gave a last glance at Harvey Dent's body, lying cold and unremorseful on the charred ground, and at Gordon, whose teeth and fists were clenched in anger. He looked to the horizon where red and blue lights flashed threateningly. Then he turned and stumbled to the Batpod while he still had strength left to remain conscious. Batman's last view of his only friend besides Alfred was of the man's son running to his father, pointing to Batman and crying out in concern. He turned and mounted the bike, fleeing to his escape before the pain completely overtook him.

Then Gordon, fighting feelings of anger and desperation, raised the radio to his lips and lied as Batman bade him to protect the undeserving.

And Harvey Dent lay on the ground behind them, the good side of his face turned to the free air. No words of secrecy would ever escape those unmoving lips. Harvey Dent would forever be the keeper of the identity of Batman, never to speak a word of that forbidden secret to a single soul.


End file.
